


You Don't Know My Name

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:10:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "Mary. Your boss. The blonde?"Octavia scoffs sharply. "Her name's notMary, you dork."He blinks, stopping in his tracks to frown at her. "What do you mean? It was on her name tag.""I think between the two of us, I'm the one who'd know my ownboss'sname, Bell."Or, the one where the pretty assistant manager at the superstore always has a different name tag on and it's driving Bellamy crazy.





	You Don't Know My Name

**Author's Note:**

> aite this is BASICALLY a Superstore au bUT IT COMES W BACKSTORY IF YOU CARE ABOUT THAT KINDA THING (if you don't please feel free to move on to the fic itself)
> 
> so i got the idea for this fic in FEBRUARY 2016 (i know. I KNOW) bcos i was really enjoying the tv series Superstore BUT i kinda lost steam with it after a few weeks and ngl it was bcos 3x10 aired and i was totally turned off of this fic bcos of the amount of Octavia there alr was in it BUT after _that_ Amy/Jonah scene in last week's episode i got re-fired up and managed to dig it up out of the depths of my hard drive and finish the last 1k words off real quick SO THERE!!
> 
>  
> 
> (title from the Alicia Keys song) ((a Classic™!!!!!!))

 

 

 

When Octavia first announces that she's going to start working at the superstore three blocks over, Bellamy's not sure how to feel about it.

 

On one hand, he's proud of his sister for wanting to take one more step towards financial independence. She's eighteen years old, for crying out loud. There aren't many eighteen-year-olds out there who would voluntarily sign up for something that's going to take away large chunks of their time out from thoroughly enjoying the chaotic hubbub of their freshman year in college.

 

On the other hand, he's _worried_.

 

(Not that that's _news_ or anything.)

 

The thing is — and this is _without_ him trying to be a dick about it — most people who work in superstores are just plain _weird_ . They're always mumbling stuff to themselves under their breaths while they bag up your purchases. Or plucking random bits of fluff out of their hair or their beard or some other orifice that hopefully lies above the waist. Or staring into empty space. Or staring _at_ you.

 

So, yeah, he's not _one hundred percent_ pumped about his baby sister spending all of her free time hanging around these beacons of capitalist supremacy with a bunch of randos.

 

That being said, he thinks he's more than entitled to a tiny bit of overprotective snooping. What Octavia doesn't know won't hurt her, right? (And, more importantly, if _she_ doesn't know, she won't hurt _him_.)

 

But it turns out that when it comes to the refined art of stealth, he's grossly overestimated himself — as he discovers when he knocks something over from a nearby shelf for the fourth time in just under twenty short minutes of spying on Octavia.

 

" _Shit_ ," he yelps under his breath, whirling around in search of the item that's just clattered to the ground, courtesy of his elbow. He quickly swipes the little whisk from the ground, hitching it back up on its tiny hook.

 

"Can I help you with something?"

 

He whirls around, blinking owlishly at a curvy blonde girl in an ocean blue vest that identifies her as a store employee. She's staring up at him with her arms crossed over her chest, brows and lips quirked in an expression that kind of makes him feel like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 

"Hi," he says automatically, before his brain finally catches up with him. He shakes his head hastily, cursing himself inwardly for the greeting — an entirely unsuitable response to her question. "I mean, hey. _I mean_ , uh, yeah. _No_. No, I'm fine." He pauses, his mouth opening and closing, before he finally adds, "Thanks."

 

Her head cocks to the right, her intense azure gaze narrowing in on him slightly. "Are you sure? You look like you could use some assistance."

 

"Nope," he says quickly, clasping his hands behind his back as his spine snaps upright. When he realises that he's basically half a move away from standing at attention, he hurriedly unclasps his hands. "No, I'm— I've got it. Thank you."

 

"Maybe I should just help you," she says coolly, surveying him up and down. "You know, instead of you knocking over everything in the store in your attempt to creep on our female employees."

 

He stares at her, his jaw hanging open. "Wha—" Snapping out of his deer-in-the-headlights funk, he throws his hands up in front of his body, waving them frantically. "Oh, _no_. No, I wasn't— I'm not— _fuck_ , no, I was just— _shit_ , sorry, didn't mean to cuss you out or any— ah, _fuck_ , I just did it again—"

 

He shakes his head, drawing a deep, steadying breath and releasing it slowly.

 

"That girl," he says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Octavia? That's my sister."

 

He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, fighting the urge to fidget under the blonde's calculating gaze. "I'm her brother," he adds after a beat. Just in case.

 

"Yes, I made the connection," she says dryly, one brow lifted high. She uncrosses her arms, some of the sternness melting from her expression. "Well, Octavia's brother, is there a reason you're hiding out in the baking tools aisle spying on your sister?"

 

 _Yeah,_ he thinks instantly, _because people who work in superstores are weird._ His cheeks flush warm, and he quickly concludes that it's probably not the best explanation he can come up with.

 

"Not… really," he says slowly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Unless, uh, general overprotective brotherly concern is a valid reason?"

 

The blonde seems to consider that for a moment, her lips pursed. "It's not _great_ ," she relents after a long moment. "But there are plenty of worse ones, so I guess I'll let it slide today."

 

He lets out a laugh, and even to his own ears, the sound is tinged with the strains of his own nervousness. "Yeah, it's definitely not a great reason," he admits, raking a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I just—"

 

"Don't," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "It's fine, I get it. Although, just a tip — maybe _try_ not to send something crashing to the ground every five seconds?" She smiles suddenly, the curve of her mouth impish and almost conspiratorial. "It's really more for your sake than mine."

 

He grins, shaking his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'm really not the most graceful—"

 

"This is an _excellent_ option for beginners, sir," she interrupts suddenly, reaching out to pluck a sifter off the shelf. "It's easy to clean, easy to store, _and_ it doesn't rust over time. In fact, plenty of customers who have purchased this particular model have also recommended it to their family and friends."

 

He blinks blankly at her, his fingers automatically closing around the sifter as she shoves it at him. "Uh, wha—"

 

" _Bellamy!_ "

 

He jumps, whipping around to see his sister stalking towards them, her long ponytail swinging threateningly behind her.

 

"Oh, Christ," he mutters under his breath, both hands tightening around the sifter as if it can somehow shield him from the brunt of his sister's infamous wrath.

 

"What are you _doing_ here?" Octavia demands, her brows tucked together in a frown.

 

He raises the sifter in his hands, but when words don't start coming out of his mouth, he turns his head to look helplessly at his only witness in the interrogation court of Octavia Blake.

 

Thankfully, the blonde steps up before he can even open his mouth to beg for assistance. "Ah, Octavia," she says briskly, "I was just helping this customer select a good sifter to suit his needs."

 

"A sifter?" Octavia's frown flicks down to the object in his hands, and back up to his face. "Why the hell do we need a sifter?"

 

"To… _sift_ things," he says. As an afterthought, he makes sure to square his shoulders. After all, even if he's not actually confident, it never hurts to _look_ it.

 

"Like _flour_ , O," he continues, his voice growing steadier by the second. "What're we gonna do? Just, like, _not_ sift our flour?"

 

Octavia's brows draw even tighter. " _Jesus_ . Seriously, Bell, do you have to let everyone at my _workplace_ know what a huge _nerd_ my brother is? Starting with my _boss_?"

 

Bellamy glances confusedly at the blonde, and catches sight of the silver _'ASST. MANAGER'_ tag right above her name.

 

"Oh, _fuck_ —I mean—"

 

"I assure you, Octavia," the blonde cuts in smoothly. "Your brother was merely trying to locate a few items. Here, why don't you get back to restocking the Red Bull, and I'll help him finish up."

 

Octavia glances at the blonde, hesitant. "Are you sure? You can just leave him, you know, it's not—"

 

"It's no trouble at all," the blonde assures her, with a firm nod and a smile.

 

With one last glance at him, Octavia nods, muttering a quick _"see you at home"_ as she turns on her heel to walk away.

 

"Oh my God— _thank you,_ " he breathes, turning back to the blonde once the end of Octavia's ponytail disappears from the aisle.

 

She shrugs, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "You looked like you needed it. Anyway, since you're already here, you might as well get whatever else you need. You know, really sell it."

 

He laughs, adjusting his hold on the sifter (which he guesses he's going to be buying today). "Yeah, okay, come to think of it, I do need a new charging cable for my phone."

 

The blonde guides him around the store, picking up the cable and a few other things, including a three-pack of tissues and a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. All the while, she keeps the conversation going with the same dry wit and humour as he'd seen in their first two minutes of meeting — yes, Octavia is a quick learner; no, there are no ex-felons on our staff, or would you like a look at private employee files? — and he's privately impressed by how good she is at making him forget his nervousness.

 

Especially considering the fact that a mere twenty minutes ago, he was basically inches away from getting chewed out by his little sister in front of her.

 

By the time they arrive at checkout, all the open registers are busy managing small queues of two or three. She doesn't even miss a beat, turning smoothly on her heel to lead him to the empty counter right at the end.

 

"Thanks for this," he says as he hands over the money for his items. "Thanks for _all_ of this. You really saved my ass."

 

She snickers as she counts out his change from the register. "Yeah, I wouldn't let my guard down _just_ yet if I were you. Octavia gives me the impression that she can be the _tiniest_ bit stubborn."

 

"You're telling me," he agrees wryly, tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

 

She grins, pushing his bags over to him. "Don't worry. I'll look out for her."

 

He reaches for his purchases, glancing at her name tag one last time before offering her another grateful grin. "Thanks, Mary."

 

 

 

Octavia storms into the living room the second she gets home, her hands balled into hard fists.  

 

"I know why you were in the store today," she announces darkly, her gaze narrowing at him.

 

He makes sure to keep his expression as bored as he can manage, lazily raising the remote to flip channels. "I wasn't spying on you, O. I was just picking up a few things."

 

Octavia snorts. "Sure, like that fucking _sifter_ you've been going _on_ about getting for _ages_." She crosses her arms tightly over her middle. "Seriously, Bell! In front of my _boss_ , too!"

 

He shrugs, tossing the remote aside and standing to take his empty dinner plate to the kitchen. "Calm down, O. Anyway, Mary was cool to help me out, so maybe you should just take a breath and chill."

 

Octavia cocks her head, all traces of aggression evaporating into thin air. "... What?"

 

He glances back at her over his shoulder. "Mary. Your boss. The blonde?"

 

To his surprise, his sister scoffs sharply, shaking her head. "Her name's not _Mary_ , you dork."

 

He blinks, stopping in his tracks to frown at her. "What do you mean it's not? It was on her name tag."

 

Octavia rolls her eyes, yanking her arms free as she starts for the hallway. "I think between the two of us, I'm the one who'd know my own _boss's_ name, Bell."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn't really bother him all that much that he doesn't know Mary's real name.

 

Yes, he's aware Mary's not her real name. It's just easier to call her that in his head, all right?

 

Not that she's _in_ his head a lot, with her long blonde hair and her deep blue eyes, which are the exact colour of the sky on a warm sunny day.

 

(... Whatever. Shut up.)

 

It's all very well for at least three days, and then he decides that they could do with a fresh carton of milk.

 

Somehow, instead of going to his usual grocery store, he finds himself at the superstore where Octavia works, on a day that she's _not_ scheduled to work, squinting for a sign of blonde hair instead of dark.

 

He finally finds her in the DVD section, with a small trolley full of _Frozen_ 's and _Moana_ 's at her side.

 

"Hey," she says when she sees him, a small smile of surprise on her face. "What are you doing here? Octavia's not on shift today."

 

"Yeah, I know," he says automatically, and then realises his mistake when one of her brows lifts high on her forehead. "I mean, I came to get— uh, we needed some milk."

 

He hovers there for a long, awkward moment, and then he raises the carton in his hand, as if compelled to show some kind of proof.

 

Her smile grows wider. "Okay. Well, you found it." She nods, her lips pursed like she's struggling not to laugh. "Good job."

 

He grins, finding it a little safer to relax. "Yeah. Didn't even knock over a single thing today."

 

"Careful, don't jinx it," she warns with a teasing smirk. She pauses, nodding at the milk in his hand. "If you're looking for some cookies to go with that"—she gestures at the DVD shelves around them—"then, I gotta tell you, you are _really_ lost."

 

He doesn't actually _plan_ on it, but just like that, cookies suddenly sound like the most appealing thing in the world to him. So she readily hands off her trolley of DVDs to another blue-vested employee, and takes him round the snack aisles.

 

He's far too relieved to learn that the whole having-a-good-time-talking thing wasn't just a first time fluke with her. In fact, by the time they're done perusing the junk food aisles, he's almost sorry he didn't think to bring along a grocery list as long as his arm.

 

"Octavia's lucky, you know," she tells him as they make their way towards the checkout counters. "Not everyone's fortunate enough to have family looking out for them the way you do for her."

 

" _Literally_ looking out," he acknowledges dryly, glancing up for an available counter. There's one a few rows down, so he looks at her hesitantly, reluctant to leave her company.

 

"Feel free to come to me the next time you want to snoop on your sister," the blonde says with a reassuring grin. "Easier to avoid knocking stuff over when you're with someone who knows where everything is."

 

He rubs at the back of his neck, grinning despite himself. "Careful. There's a _very_ high probability that I'll be taking you up on that in the near future."

 

She laughs, nodding as they reach the open register. "I'm counting on it, Bellamy," she says, all warm and teasing.

 

He clears his throat as she turns to walk away, prompting her to stop and turn back around, her expression expectant.

 

"Uh," he says, gesturing at the name tag on her vest. "Your name's… not 'Joanne', is it?"

 

"What?" She blinks, glancing down at the tag she's wearing, like she's just now realising that it's even there. " _Oh_." She dissolves into chuckles, reaching up to brush at a strand of hair that's escaped her braid. "Well, it is for today, I guess."

 

"Ah," he says, his mind racing. "Uh, why—"

 

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I lost my own tag about a month into the job. Started grabbing whatever leftover name tags I could find in the break room. My boss didn't seem to care either, so, I don't know. It's just kind of a thing for me now."

 

He nods, unable to help from smiling a little at the way she says it. She makes it sound like one of those special, homely routines people create for themselves over time without really, consciously _realising_ it — like pulling on warm socks before heading to bed, or sitting down with a mug of hot chocolate to watch _Chopped_.

 

"Awesome," he says.

 

She smiles, and turns to walk away for a second time.

 

"Hey, uh," he calls out, and she stops, turning back to him yet again.

 

"In that case," he says, his ears burning, "what, er, actually _is_ it, then? Your name, I mean."

 

She considers that for a second, her head tilted as if sizing him up for something. "How about you find out and get back to me?"

 

He stares after her as she walks away, his jaw hanging open.

 

Over at the checkout counter, the skinny kid behind it raps on the machine with his knuckles. "I said _next_ , dude. Hey man, you deaf?"

 

Bellamy jerks back to life, setting his milk and cookies on the counter for the sallow-faced kid to scan. "Right, sorry." He reaches for his wallet, frowning to himself. "Hey, you know that girl I was talking to? Your boss? What's her—"

 

"Nope," the kid says flatly, swiping his money with a curt flick of his wrist, like he's stealing it from Bellamy instead of accepting payment. "I just heard basically _everything_ there, and, _nope_. Not interested. Bye."

 

Bellamy stares incredulously at him, glancing at the kid's name tag before grabbing his own bag and turning to leave.

 

Whoever this Murphy kid is, he's definitely _not_ getting a good Yelp review anytime soon.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he comes into the store, Octavia greets him with a melodramatic groan.

 

"Don't give me that look," he retorts before she can even start. "It's not _my_ fault you practically inhale Pop-Tarts by the box."

 

She rolls her eyes, but keeps her mouth shut, turning back around to attend to the customer coming up to her checkout counter.

 

He breathes a small sigh of relief, and quickly heads for the nearest aisle.

 

This time, he manages to find the blonde assistant manager _before_ he chances on the thing he's pretending to buy.

 

"I can't believe you managed to turn my own sister against me," he says in lieu of a greeting.

 

She grins, letting the clipboard in her hand fall to her side. "No way. She didn't tell on me?"

 

"I tried _everything_ ," he informs her, grazing an idle hand against the towels stacked up on the shelf before them. "I offered her money, which she doesn't need now, thanks to _you_. I even bribed her with peanut butter double fudge brownies." He huffs, pretending to be outraged. "I'll have you know my peanut butter double fudge brownies are world famous."

 

She's snickering, one hand over her upturned mouth. "Well, I'll have to take your word for it. Until I can test that claim out for myself, that is," she says, propping one hand on her hip. "Although, I feel like I should tell you — I didn't actually _ask_ Octavia to keep my name a secret from you."

 

His brows shoot up. "You _didn't_?"

 

She shakes her head 'no', shoulders already shaking with laughter. "I guess even your sister's on my side."

 

"Goddamn it," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He pauses, gesturing vaguely at her name tag. "I'm guessing it's _not_ 'Anna', either?"

 

She squints at him. "Come on, Bellamy. That was weak _at best_."

 

He groans in defeat, but she's already laughing at the wide smile on his face.

 

What can he say? He's not exactly any closer to finding out her name, but, fuck it, he's having a pretty darn good time anyway.

 

He tries a few more options out as they work their way towards the Pop-Tarts.

 

"Well, you definitely don't _look_ like a Diana, or a Michelle," he says, tapping on his chin as he pretends to contemplate her.

 

"Hey, I would be a fucking _awesome_ Diana," she says, flipping her hair lightly.

 

"Nah, you're too short to be a Diana," he says dismissively.

 

She stage gasps before smacking him in the shoulder with her clipboard. " _Just_ for that, I'm going to give Octavia a raise for helping me out."

 

He laughs, shaking his head as he grabs a couple boxes off the Pop-Tart shelves. "All right, okay, fine, you'd be an _amazing_ Diana."

 

"Thank you," she says with an exaggerated sniff, before gesturing at his Pop-Tarts. "Anyway, looks like you're all set with those."

 

"Yeah," he says, looking down at the boxes in his hands before dragging his gaze back up to her. "Yeah, thanks. You know, for helping me, uh, locate these."

 

"Anytime, Bellamy," she laughs, flashing him one last smile before turning to walk away.

 

Right as she reaches the end of the aisle, another employee rounds the corner, he and the blonde exchanging nods as they pass each other by.

 

The second she disappears behind a shelf, Bellamy clears his throat and throws out a hand to stop the other employee — a stockier man with a shaved head and a five o'clock shadow. "Hey, uh, can I—"

 

"Can I help you with something, sir?" the man drones, turning robotically to face Bellamy.

 

Bellamy swallows, glancing at the end of the aisle to make sure the blonde is gone. "Yeah, uh — you know your manager? The one with the blonde hair? What's her name?"

 

The other man's dark brows knit together in a sharp frown. "What? Why are you—" He abruptly breaks off, his eyes widening to practically the size of ping pong balls. "Oh, _shit_. Are you _Octavia's brother_?"

 

"Um," Bellamy says, taking an involuntary step back.

 

The employee suddenly bursts into a belly laugh, clapping one hand on Bellamy's shoulder with a loud guffaw. "Oh, man. Oh, _man_. This is great, my guy. You're _great_."

 

Bellamy blinks dazedly as the man — Miller, his name tag reads — claps him on the other shoulder, and turns to walk away, already wiping at his eyes with his free hand.

 

"Hey!" he suddenly says when he manages to get over his initial shock. "You didn't answer my question."

 

Miller stops in his tracks, turning to cast a vaguely offended frown over his shoulder. "What? No fuckin' _way_ , dude. You're not letting me down."

 

Bellamy gapes after him as he strides away.

 

"What the fuck," he says under his breath, turning dazedly towards the checkout counters.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy makes two more visits in the next five days.

 

Each one is routine enough. If Octavia's working, he takes a minute to check up on her first. If she's not, he wanders about, pretending to browse the shelves as he scans the aisles for the blonde assistant manager.

 

Once he finds her, they usually spend a good twenty to thirty minutes walking around the store pretending to look for stuff he's pretending to need, all while having a damn good time talking and laughing as he tries to guess her name.

 

On his third visit, though, Bellamy decides it's time to cut straight to the chase.

 

"It's come to my attention that there is some sort of _pool_ going round," Bellamy announces.

 

The blonde glances at him, only slightly apologetic. "Oh. You found out about that?"

 

"I found out about that," he confirms wryly, watching her stuff bottles of Gatorade into the fridge. "Actually, I kind of suspected something that day Miller told me not to let him down? But when I walked in earlier, Raven said something that just _really_ settled it for me."

 

She cocks a brow at him through the fridge door. "What'd she say?"

 

"That there's a pool going round."

 

The blonde laughs, letting the fridge door swing shut before turning to face him. "I would say sorry, but pretty much everyone who works here is in desperate need of some kind of distraction from their painfully mundane lives. So, really, if you think about it, this is practically philanthropy on your part."

 

He shrugs. "It's actually kind of sweet. Raven was almost encouraging, even. Aside from the part where she not so subtly threatened to shoot out my kneecaps if I don't manage to guess your name within two weeks."

 

She grimaces. "Ah. Right." She falls silent for a beat, and then looks up at him. "Uh, I should probably warn you, that might not _entirely_ be a joke."

 

His brows shoot up towards his hairline. "Say what?"

 

She cocks her head, the corners of her lips already tugging upwards despite her attempt at a sombre expression. "What can I say? She's got a _lot_ of money riding on you."

 

He nods slowly. "Huh. Nice to know your employees have more faith in me than my own sister does, at least."

 

She laughs, gesturing for him to help with the second box of Gatorade sitting at her feet. "Oh, yeah, they're _definitely_ invested in this."

 

 

* * *

 

 

He starts making lists whenever he's at home. Actual _lists_.

 

He spends most of his free time brainstorming for suggestions, thumbs scrambling to type them out on the fresh note he's got open on his phone, and relies on the Internet for the rest.

 

It's only when Google starts exclusively showing him Amazon ads for baby clothes and cribs that he even begins to _notice_ just how far he's taking it. He cringes and closes the tab, worried that he might be falling a little _too_ deep into this particular rabbit hole.  But then he just decides _'fuck it'_ and reopens a new tab ten seconds later, too eager to continue his research.

 

He's reasonably confident by the time he steps into the store next, armed with a good forty to fifty names in his arsenal.

 

Thirty minutes and forty to fifty names later, though, he's feeling a lot less confident.

 

"I'm gonna have to go fancier," he decides at the end, glaring determinedly at his exhausted list. "A _lot_ fancier."

 

The blonde laughs, lifting the price scanner in her hand to tap on the front of her blue store vest. "Well, there _is_ one name you haven't tried yet."

 

He stares at the tag she's wearing, eyes wide. "No way. It's seriously just 'Amy'?!"

 

She manages to maintain the straight face for about two seconds, but then dissolves into helpless snickers.

 

"Downright cruel," he informs her, mouth already curving upwards despite himself.

 

"I would _never_ ," she says mildly, the scanner chirping as she runs it over the price sticker on a yoga mat. She pauses to scribble something on her clipboard, before looking up to give him a small smile that makes his stomach do a little backflip. "Trust me. I've got a lot riding on this, too."

 

He just sort of _hangs_ there, grinning dopily after her as she walks away.

 

 _She means the POOL, you idiot,_ his brain yells at him after a beat. He jerks back into motion, glancing around self-consciously before striding off.

 

When he reaches the end of the aisle and finds Miller sniggering behind an armful of plastic-sheathed umbrellas, he doesn't even hesitate to flip the guy off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Seraphina is a nice name."

 

"Nicer than _Aphrodite_?"

 

Bellamy flushes, hitting backspace on that particular entry. "Okay, that one was kind of a long shot."

 

Jasper leans over his right arm, peering at his phone. "' _Wilhelmina'_. Wow, you're really taking this all the way into the eighteenth century here."

 

From Bellamy's other side, Monty throws the shaggy-haired boy a glance. "Jasper, you literally have an aunt named Wilhelmina. She sends you a hundred bucks in cash for your birthday every year."

 

Jasper shrugs, unconcerned. "I know, right? It's like she's never _heard_ of online transfers."

 

"Okay, this is a lot further away from helpful than I'd like to be," Bellamy cuts in, slumping over the table.

 

Jasper plucks the phone out of his hands, angling it sideways so Monty can see as he scrolls through. "'Mildred'?" he guffaws. "Does Boss look like a _Mildred_ to you?!"

 

Bellamy throws his hands in the air, forehead still glued to the table. "At this point, I'm pretty much open to anything, Jasper."

 

"What's going on here?"

 

Bellamy raises his head at the familiar husky voice, squinting at the blonde standing in the doorway. "Nothing productive."

 

Her amused gaze roves over Jasper and then Monty. "You guys know customers aren't allowed in the break room, right?"

 

"Well, _technically_ , Bellamy's not really a _customer_ , seeing as he's not here to actually _buy_ anything," Monty explains, patting Bellamy on the shoulder.

 

Bellamy frowns. "On second thought, I _might_ need to pick up some paper towels."

 

The blonde shakes her head, all fond exasperation. "Out, you two. Your break was over ten minutes ago."

 

"Got it, Boss!" Jasper chimes as he and Monty push back their chairs. "See ya, Bellamy!" he yells over his shoulder on their way out.

 

"Thanks, guys," he calls after them. He lifts his hands in a _what-can-you-do_ gesture as the blonde snags an apple from a large bowl from the counter and slips into a chair beside him. "It's _definitely_ not 'Mildred', right?"

 

She merely throws him a disbelieving look, before biting into the apple with a flourish.

 

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Thought not."

 

 

* * *

 

 

" _Alyssandra_?"

 

The blonde wrinkles her nose, peering up at him from the bottom of the stepladder. "What? How the hell did you even come up with _that_?"

 

He glances down at her, both arms occupied with the light bulb he's replacing. "I feel like you're indirectly accusing me of starting to invent names."

 

She laughs, taking one hand off the ladder to brush her hair out of her eyes. "No, it's not Alyssandra. But points for creativity."

 

He snorts, finishing up and testing the bulb with a light tap of his fingers. "Here, try it out."

 

Taking her other hand off the ladder, she crosses over to the light switch, flipping it on. The bulb flickers to life, bathing the room in fluorescent light.

 

" _Very_ good, Bellamy," she remarks, moving back over to steady the stepladder so he can climb down. "And the best part is, we don't even have to give you a Christmas bonus."

 

"Keep the bonus. Just make sure I'm invited to the staff party," he says dryly, helping her to fold the ladder up. "Okay, I've got one. Clementina."

 

"You already tried that one."

 

"No, I tried _Clementine_. Now I'm trying _Clementina_."

 

She arches a brow at him as she sets the ladder aside, leaning it against the break room counter. "You realise this is basically the plot of _Rumpelstiltskin_?"

 

He snorts, stepping closer and reaching out to play with a lock of her blonde hair. "Yeah, look. You even do the whole spinning-straw-into-gold and everything."

 

It takes a few starkly silent beats for him to realise how _close_ they're standing all of a sudden.

 

Also, that they are very much _alone_ in the break room.

 

The blonde is looking up at him, her expression not quite wary, but not unwelcoming, either. "Any more ideas?" she breathes, her voice lower and huskier than usual.

 

He thought her eyes were blue before, but, this close, he can't help but notice that they aren't just blue, but _Blue_ , with a capital 'B'.

 

He swallows, daring to trail the pads of his fingertips lightly over the line of her jaw. "A couple, yeah."

 

Her gaze locks in on his, and he actually _feels_ rather than sees her leaning in, by no more than a few degrees. "Like what?" she asks.

 

Just two simple words, brimming over with so much anticipation that his breath hitches in his throat.

 

He stares into the endless blue of her irises, every inch of him held absolutely, utterly still.

 

Blinking slowly, he takes a single, deliberate step back.

 

"Like," he says, clearing his throat when he hears how hoarse his voice is. He shakes his head, dropping his hand from her face and shoving it into his pocket in search of his phone. He yanks the device out, clicking the display on as he takes another step back.

 

"Like 'Madeline'," he says, his eyes fixed firmly on his phone. "Or maybe something unnecessarily difficult, like 'Siobhan'. Or 'Ashleigh'. You know, with the 'G-H' instead of the 'Y'."

 

She doesn't respond. When he looks up, her expression is completely inscrutable.

 

"Nope," she says finally, tucking her hair behind her ear with a brisk shake of her head. "Still haven't got it."

 

She grabs her clipboard off the counter, glancing back at him in a way that kind of makes him feel like he got a 'D' on a test the teacher had been counting on him to ace.

 

 

 

Raven's hovering by the electronics section when he emerges from the back. "Well?" she demands the second she sees him, hands on her hips.

 

He shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Sorry. No progress."

 

She narrows her eyes at him skeptically. "No progress with her _name_ , or… ?"

 

He leans back on his heels, one brow raised warily. "Or… what?"

 

She merely searches his face, her face still contorted in some kind of suspicion that, as far as he knows, is _completely_ unwarranted.

 

"Or _what_?" he repeats with a frown as he takes a proper step back.

 

Raven seems to conclude her inspection, folding her arms over her middle with a deep sigh. " _God_ , you're slow."

 

He blinks at her. "Look, without exaggerating, I'm pretty sure I've tried over two _hundred_ names already. At least give me some credit _just_ for effort here."

 

She huffs impatiently. "Not what I— never mind." Spinning sharply on her heel, she jabs a commanding finger at him as she walks away. "Get a _move_ on already."

 

Bellamy stares after her, snapping his slackened jaw shut to shake his head slowly.

 

"I'm _trying_ ," he mutters, turning towards the exit. " _Jesus_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

He's not sure why the blonde is acting all weird the next time he comes in, two days later.

 

But he's pretty sure that whatever it is, it's his fault.

 

She's aloof and distant, barely getting into any of his jokes or bits, and then she cuts him off just a few short minutes into the uncomfortably one-sided conversation, muttering some excuse about needing to see to some kind of restock in the electronics section.

 

"Although," she says quickly, one hand shooting out to grab at Miller's arm just as he's passing by, "Miller can help you find whatever it is you need. Later, Bellamy."

 

Once she disappears, Miller turns to raise a brow at Bellamy. "Wait, are you actually here to buy shit for real this time?"

 

"No," Bellamy says automatically, frowning after her as she disappears through the door leading to the break room instead of heading to electronics. He blinks when he realises his mistake, tearing his gaze from the blonde's back to snap his slightly panicked gaze to Miller. "I mean, uh, yeah. Yeah, I— I need some, uh—"

 

Miller gives him a pitying look, one hand reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. "Dude. Literally _everyone_ stopped buying that, like, your second day here."

 

Bellamy exhales, scrubbing a palm over his eyes. "I'm _really_ trying to figure out what I've done wrong now."

 

Miller's lips purse in thought. "Maybe it's something you _didn't_ do."

 

Bellamy whips round to stare at him. "What?"

 

The other man shrugs, careless. "Or maybe you're just _taking_ too long."

 

"Oh, right," Bellamy says, blinking. "With her name."

 

Miller snorts, prompting another sharp look from Bellamy. " _Right_. Yeah, sure. That."

 

Bellamy doesn't know what to say to that.

 

Miller rocks back and forth on his heels, glancing around pointedly for a long, awkward moment before giving a low whistle. "All right. Cool. Kind of feels like we're done here, so... I'm... gonna walk away now."

 

With another bracing clap to Bellamy's shoulder, he turns and strides off.

 

 

 

The front door bangs open when Octavia arrives home, giving him his first indication that a storm is already upon him and it's too late to find shelter.

 

She stomps into the living room, planting herself right between him and the TV. "Did you make a move on my boss?"

 

He frowns up at her. "What? No. _No_. Who said— _No_."

 

Octavia glares at him for a full ten seconds, her sharp green gaze narrowed unforgivingly on him.

 

Suddenly, her hands drop from her hips. "Oh," she says, sounding genuinely surprised. "Seriously?"

 

"Was it Raven?" he asks suspiciously. "Because I strongly advise taking everything Raven says with a generous helping of salt. Like, maybe a bucketful. Or, better yet, just a _barrel_ of—"

 

Octavia cuts him off with a scornful huff, roughly pushing her dark hair back from her face.

 

"No, Bell. I mean _'seriously'_ , as in, what the _fuck_ are you waiting for?"

 

He sits up on the couch, the back of his neck prickling with heated irritation.

 

"What the _fuck_ is everybody's _problem_?" he bursts out, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. "Do you all just think I _like_ not knowing her name? I know this whole thing is just one big _game_ to the rest of you, but I, for one, would really, _really_ like to know your boss's name!"

 

"Are you this _dense_?"

 

Bellamy blinks, thrown off guard by his sister's intimidatingly flat tone. "What?"

 

She throws her hands into the air, her eyes rolling to the heavens. " _Fuck_ her name. Her name doesn't _matter_. Her name could be fucking 'Jar Jar Binks', and you'd _still_ be this much of a hopeless mess."

 

"It _does_ matter!" he protests, leaping up from the couch. Huffing impatiently, he turns in an agitated half-circle before turning back to face his sister. "It just… it feels fucking _weird_ , okay! I don't even know her _name_ , but I'm trying to— to—"

 

Octavia raises a brow, arms folded across her middle. "To _what_?"

 

To ask her out? To ask if she might just like him a _fraction_ as much as he likes her? To ask if he could one day maybe even hope to give her a kiss, _not_ of the Hershey's variety? God, honestly, he'll take literally _anything_ she'd give him.

 

He exhales, dropping back down onto the couch. "You _know_ what."

 

The couch dips down under the weight of Octavia seating herself right next to him. "Honestly," she says conversationally, "I'm just glad _you_ know what."

 

That pulls a half-hearted laugh from him, even as he scrubs a palm over his eyes.

 

Octavia pats him on the knee. It's a little more force than he's used to when receiving comfort from another human, but, well, it's Octavia. 'Forceful' doesn't even begin to cover it.

 

"Little advice?" she offers, with the air of someone who's not really _offering_ so much as outright shoving it into his metaphorical lap. "Just make sure _she_ knows what, too."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, he charges right back into the store, heading determinedly past the aisles and displays and straight for the door leading to the back.

 

"She in there?" he throws out as he passes Miller on the way.

 

Miller looks up from the clipboard in his hands and blinks. "Uh, yeah. But she—"

 

"Thanks," he says, not breaking his stride. Pushing smoothly through the double doors, he heads towards the break room.

 

When he walks in, three heads spring up — but none of them are blonde. Raven lowers her phone, while Jasper and Monty gawk at him over the magazine they've apparently been poring over together.

 

"Bellamy?" Raven says, frowning. "What are—"

 

"Can't really talk right now," he says. "Where is she?"

 

"Stock room," Monty says. "How'd you—"

 

Bellamy's gone before he can finish the question.

 

 

 

He's only been to the stock room once before, but he remembers exactly where it is — turn left out the break room, head all the way down the hall to the very end. The closer he gets to the nondescript grey doors, the faster his heart pounds.

 

She's half covered in packing peanuts when he gets there, stuffing large, clear bags of the stuff into large wheelie bins and blowing stray bits of loose foam out of her face.

 

"Jasper, did you manage to find the—" She turns around, the rest of the question dying on her lips. "Oh. Hey. How did you get in here?"

 

"Monty told me where to go," he says, slowing his pace as he walks towards her. He feels calm and impatient all at the same time, his skin buzzing with a peculiar sort of awareness. He casts a glance at the bin next to her. "You all right?"

 

"Oh, yeah, just great," she says, brushing at a foam peanut stuck in her hair. "Listen, I'm actually glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you about—"

 

He steps closer, and, as gently as he can, takes the lock of hair she's struggling with out of her grasp and plucks the bit of foam from it, flicking it away without taking his eyes off her.

 

"Something," she finishes, looking up at him with a strange expression — a little bit curious, a little bit doubtful, a little bit self-conscious.

 

He nods, not stepping back. "Okay. Let's talk."

 

For a long moment, she looks like she's considering moving, breaking them out of each other's personal space. She swallows, and lifts her chin instead, as if steeling herself. "I wanted to apologise for how I acted yesterday," she says, her voice mostly steady but oddly formal. "I kind of blew you off, and you didn't do anything to deserve that. I—I guess I was just disappointed, expecting—" She looks away, her cheeks flushing warm pink.

 

"You were expecting?" he prompts quietly, shifting even closer.

 

She looks up again, flustered to find his face inches from hers. "I—I don't know what I was expecting," she says, her tone hitching slightly when he steps closer still, her head tilting back to maintain eye contact. "But it wasn't fair of me to hold you to anything when I—"

 

His hand comes up to curve softly around her face.

 

"I mean—when _you_ —" She breaks off again when he closes the last vestiges of distance between them, their chests practically touching. "What are you doing?" she breathes, her gaze locked in his.

 

He leans in, their breaths fanning over each other's lips, his eyes flicking back up to hers in a silent question. They stay there for what it seems like an eternity — and then she gives the smallest, slightest nod, one he feels more than sees from the dip of her cheek against his hand.

 

When their lips finally meet, the two of them melt into each other. It's everything he expected and everything he didn't. It's natural and new all at the same time, and he would give anything to feel the pressure of her hands around his waist over and over, tugging him against her even as he pulls her closer with both hands around her head, neither of them willing to let go just yet.

 

Her lids are heavy when they pull back, and it takes her a second to lift them and another for her blue eyes to focus in properly on his. She swallows, and his eyes track the movement of her tongue as it darts out to trace along her lower lip, as if savouring the taste of his mouth on hers.

 

"My name is Clarke."

 

He almost laughs, because _of course._ Of _course_ it is. There's no way she could be anything else. Not a Rachel, not an Elizabeth or a Madeline.

 

She's _Clarke._

 

"Hi, Clarke," he says, smiling down at her. She smiles right back, and just like that, they're kissing again.

 

 

 

They're flushed and tousled by the time they head back into the break room, despite their best efforts to fix clothes and hair (and irreparably smudged lip gloss on Clarke's part). To their surprise, they walk in to find half the staff gathered in the break room, everyone crowded together talking in low, urgent murmurs that die down the second they step in.

 

"Uh," Bellamy says. "What—"

 

"Did you guys hook up in the stock room?" Miller demands.

 

Both of them jump apart, quickly exchanging harried looks.

 

Clarke recovers first, smoothing her hands over her employee vest before planting them on her hips in a show of authority. "That's none of—you know what, what the hell is everyone doing in here?" She blinks, properly taking in the number of people currently congregated in the break room. "Who's covering the _floor?"_

 

"That's a yes!" Jasper declares excitedly, and the room immediately dissolves a flurry of cheers and groans and exclamations.

 

"What on earth is happening," Clarke says blankly, her expression torn between appalled and amused as she surveys the room. "Did anyone hear me when I said—oh come on, don't do this _now!"_ she groans as people start thumbing through wallets and exchanging cash.

 

Monty shrugs as he accepts bills of varying denominations from three different people at once. "Most of us are here now. It's probably easier this way."

 

"Guys, come on," Clarke says, exasperated. "I need _some_ of you to work, at least." When no one seems to hear her, she throws her hands into the air and looks at Bellamy, entreating.

 

"All right, people, you heard her," Bellamy says, surprised at feeling only slightly awkward about addressing a staff he technically has no business giving orders to. "You should probably get back to—" His jaw drops as he watches Raven snatch the cash Miller holds out to her with a gleeful cackle. "Raven won money?" He gapes, and turns to Clarke. "I didn't even manage to guess your name. Why does Raven win money?"

 

Clarke turns beet red, but before she can say anything, Raven pipes up. "Uh," she says, with a skeptical lift of her brow, "why the hell would me winning money have anything to do with _that?"_

 

All at once, the puzzle pieces fall into place.

 

He turns to Clarke, steadily ignoring the hot flush blooming across his own face. "That pool that was going round."

 

"Yep," she says.

 

He cocks his head. "That wasn't about me guessing your name, was it."

 

"Nope," she says, grinning through her own blush.

 

"Are you _serious,"_ Raven scoffs, turning away impatiently. "Jesus, you guys really _are_ lame as hell."

 

With a quick glance to make sure the staff are still occupied with settling their scores, Bellamy quickly reaches out and takes Clarke's hand in his.

 

"Yeah," he says, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, we probably are."

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> didja like it or nah? drop me a kudos/comment to let me know!
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://ticogirls.tumblr.com)


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